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Quote by Darynda Jones

“In the meantime, I had to get dressed and go to work, because going to work in my pajamas was apparently the definition of unprofessional. Cookie's words. I looked it up though. She was wrong. Webster's mentioned nothing about pajamas.”

Quote by Darynda Jones

Book:The Curse of Tenth Grave
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The Curse of Tenth Grave

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Darynda Jones
Darynda Jones

Darynda Jones, born in 1965, is an acclaimed American author known for her unique sense of humor and emotional depth in her novels. Her works have gained widespread attention and praise from readers. more

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“He reached out and took my hands on the center of the table, pushing aside our mostly empty plates. His thumb brushed lightly over my knuckles, sending a shiver trembling from my wrists to my shoulders to my chest. "I want to keep things anything but professional," he said, voice low. It thrummed somewhere deep in my stomach. "I mean, unless you want to keep things professional." I traced my own thumbs over his palms. They curled reflexively up into my hands. "I want you to stop saying the word professional. And thinking it." I swallowed hard. Once I said this, there was no going back. But I didn't want to go back. "I don't want to keep things professional. At all." "Then we're in agreement," he said gravely. "To be unprofessional. Together." I nearly wrenched my shoulder from its socket waving to the waitress for the check. "No dessert tonight," I told her, trying not to look at Bennett's slow grin across from me. "I think we'll just have it at home.”

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“The film festival measured a mile in length, from the Martinez to the Vieux Port, where sales executives tucked into their platters of fruits de mer, but was only fifty yards deep. For a fortnight the Croisette and its grand hotels willingly became a facade, the largest stage set in the world. Without realizing it, the crowds under the palm trees were extras recruited to play their traditional roles. As they cheered and hooted, they were far more confident than the film actors on display, who seemed ill at ease when they stepped from their limos, like celebrity criminals ferried to a mass trial by jury at the Palais, a full-scale cultural Nuremberg furnished with film clips of the atrocities they had helped to commit.”

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“Bashir walked toward a glass cabinet in the dining room. Dalia followed Bashir, and the two stood looking through the glass. "Look at the cabinet and tell me what you see," Bashir said. "Is this a test?" "It is a test. Please tell me what you see in the cabinet." Books, vases, a picture of Abdel Nasser. Maybe some things hiding behind. And a lemon." "You won," Bashir said. "Do you remember the lemon?" "What about it? Is there a story?" "Do you remember when me and my brother came to visit?...Yes? Do you remember that Kamel asked you for something as we left? And do you remember what you gave him as a gift?" Dalia was silent for a moment, Bashir would recall. "Oh, my God. It's one of those lemons from that visit. But why did you keep it? It has been almost four months now." They walked from the cabinet and took their seats in the living room. "To us, this lemon is more than fruit, Dalia," Bashir said slowly. "It is land and history. It is the window that we open to look at our history. A few days after we brought the lemons home, it was night, and I heard a movement in the house. I was asleep. I got up, and I was listening. We were so nervous when the occupation started. Even the movement of trees used to wake us. And left us worried. I heard the noise and I got up. The noise was coming from this room right here. Do you know what I saw? My father, who is nearly blind." "Yes," said Dalia. She was listening intently. "Dalia, I saw him holding the lemon with both hands. And he was pacing back and forth in the room, and the tears were running down his cheeks.”

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“I don't want to do the show anymore. I've had enough exposure. It was sort of fun the first season but then Boyd went and ruined everything. He completely humiliated me." Boyd - as in Boydell Hampton - the preacher's son with the baby face and the mile-wide naughty streak. The kind of guy who talked poetically about being a missionary but who was really far more interested in exploring the missionary position. And every other position he could think of.”

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